


Untangle

by Cake and Pi (Tarrin)



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarrin/pseuds/Cake%20and%20Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are consequences to the things they do, the choices they make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untangle

When they are young, they study at the conservatory together. They are inseparable; where one is the other two are. Garth can't imagine them being apart.

Kaldur’s skin is inked with eels, twining over and around his shoulders and arms. Tula traces them with her hands and palms, face scrunched with concentration. Kaldur is the fourth in their class to get them. She will get her own ink next week; Garth the week after. Garth presses his body against the length of Kaldur’s, arm flung over Kaldur's waist. His forehead rests against Kaldur's shoulder and he reaches mentally, reaches as Queen Mera has been teaching them, to find the call of the water in the ink.

It's easy, and he doesn't understand why Kaldur finds it at all difficult. They live in the water, they breathe it, it is their home, their life. But he thinks maybe that's why he isn't as good at it as Kaldur, because Kaldur works harder at it. Tula's better than both of them.

Tula finds a ticklish spot and Kaldur squeaks, wriggling away from her, out of Garth's hold. Garth grins and laughs as his friends chase each other about the room. Then it is his turn to shriek as they call a truce and form an allegiance to attack Garth's sides.

They grow older and the ease with which they fit together fades. Kaldur attends different lessons, leaving the conservatory to become King Orin's protege. It is an honor, and Garth and Tula don't begrudge their friend the choice, but it breaks them apart. They don't spend every day together anymore; where they were once inseparable, there's now a widening gulf between them, of Kaldur's experiences in the dry surface world and Tula's and Garth's sorcery lessons.

They are still three, even if they no longer pile onto the same couch, a tangle of arms and legs as they pour over homework together. Garth misses that.

He and Tula form a pair, and they have to tell Kaldur, they have to but Garth knows it will hurt. He’s seen how Kaldur’s eyes have begun to linger on Tula, just the littlest bit, the times he comes home instead of staying on the surface. Someone else might miss it but the three of them have always been close.

And it does hurt him, Garth can see it in his friend's eyes. His stomach twists and churns; he’s afraid they've lost Kaldur for good. It hurts and unlike Kaldur, Garth's never learned to keep his feelings from his face. He buries his face in Tula's hair later, when they're alone, and tries not to cry. Tula holds him and tucks her head into his shoulder. Her nails press into his skin on his back; she's upset at losing Kaldur too.

The season changes twice before Kaldur visits again. It’s a brittle thing, awkward and clumsy and full of groping for words that are not made of knives. Garth’s certain that something important between them has been broken for good. They fumble along until the time comes for Kaldur to leave again - and shouldn’t that have been a warning, that something was breaking, because Kaldur’s always, always been leaving? Garth tries and fails to find some way to tell Kaldur he’s missed without seeming needy. He doesn’t want to drive Kaldur further away.

Kaldur offers his hand, and Garth stares, confused. Kaldur snorts and kicks forward, coming close enough to grab his hand. He squeezes it tight as he pulls Garth into an embrace. “Give it time.” Kaldur’s voice is soft. “This’ll smooth over.”

Garth’s throat is tight as he hugs Kaldur back.

It continues to be awkward for a while, the times Kaldur visits, trying to figure out the new rules for their friendship. Trying to avoid sore spots, and finding new raw wounds and testing callouses of old hurts. It is hard, to relearn how to be friends with a friend.

Conner and M’gann visit, and they’re nice but they talk like Kaldur belongs to the team. Like Kaldur belongs more to the surface than to the oceans. Garth grumbles and crosses his arms because this is such a silly, petty thing to be possessive over. Tula brushes against his shoulder, because of course she would notice. He shrugs in response. Why can’t he be jealous, if he keeps it to himself and isn’t an ass over it?

Kaldur looks back and smiles at him, and holds a hand out for each of them. Warmth blooms in Garth’s chest where jealousy wanted to root; Kaldur had noticed too. They take his offered hands and swim onwards.

When they were young, Garth couldn’t imagine them being anything but together. He still can’t, even though together means something different than before.

It does smooth over - the sea is good at that - and looking back there’s no obvious point where things changed. It takes work and effort, as with anything, and some days are full of crackling angry sparks because Kaldur won’t talk about what’s bothering him, and Tula can’t decipher his eyes like Garth can, and Tula doesn’t want Garth to tell her, she wants Kaldur’s words. Some days are full of bright, vibrant lights, where it’s all laughter and light and an easiness to them that makes the difficult times seem dreamed up. Most days are somewhere in between.

Kaldur is theirs and they love him and they don't want to lose him if Kaldur doesn't want to go, if he wants to stay.

Kaldur is often gone because of missions with the team, even if he is home more often now. Tula and Garth help sometimes, but the surface doesn’t call to them like it does Kaldur. It interests them only because it interests Kaldur, only because it hurts Kaldur.

They come home one day, laughing and nothing more on their minds than food and maybe getting lost in each other’s touches, and Kaldur’s there. He looks up as they pause in the entrance to their home, and for a terrifying moment Garth thinks Kaldur’s leaving them. That this is not enough for Kaldur, that Tula and Garth have not been giving enough and haven’t cared enough to notice. His eyes have that same near-broken look from before, when Tula and Garth first told him they were a couple.

He’s not, and it’s almost worse. They sit beside him, Tula’s hands twined in his, Garth with an arm slung across his back, thumb rubbing his shoulder. The story takes an hour to drag out, and details even longer. Kaldur’s voice cracks as he tries to joke about Black Canary’s therapy sessions really being about making sure the League isn’t grooming killers.

It’s Tula who sings him to sleep, and Garth who makes sure he eats when he wakes. King Orin comes to talk with him, with all of them, the next day. He reminds them that part of learning to fight is learning how to keep yourself alive at the expense of someone else. That sometimes, that means deciding between yourself and someone else. That sometimes, there’s not a right decision. Maybe pulling a punch more would have left the person merely knocked out and not dead. Maybe not. That guilt is something they will have to deal with. That there are consequences to the things they do, the choices they make.

Garth’s not exactly sure if the king’s talking more to Kaldur or himself at the end.

It takes a long time for Kaldur to heal. He still leads the team - and they argue and argue over that, because can’t Kaldur ever give himself a break? - but he doesn’t stay on the surface anymore, and comes back to them after every finished mission report.

Batman complains, and Garth and Tula learn exactly how much drier Kaldur’s sass has become during his time on the surface.

It’s not the only time people die. All three are present the next time, are part of it the next time. There’s blood on Garth’s hands and on his uniform after, and he can’t put any weight on one leg. The blood washes off but it stays, in his memory. He looks at the bodies before him, where they’ve landed and picks out which are his and which are Kaldur’s and which are Tula’s. He understands exactly why Kaldur had been so shattered before, now.

He’s glad he has both Kaldur and Tula to remind him to live.

Kaldur will always be Garth's and Tula's. Always, always and forever, even if they aren't even twenty yet and forever is an endlessly distant time they will never reach. They each have a piece of each other's heart, and want to see the others smiling and happy, and want to shield the others from pain.

Isn't that enough to say forever and always?

Garth doesn't know. He only knows that it feels right, to fit between Kaldur and Tula, to hold them both close. He wants to chase that feeling as far as he can, for as long as he can.

It doesn't stay right.

Tula dies. Tula dies and Garth's still here and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. How he's supposed to live now. Kaldur holds him, and Garth clutches at him, afraid he might drown if he lets go. Kaldur hums one of Tula's favorite tunes, a quiet soft song she could never remember all the words to. Fingers alternate between gently tapping against his back and rubbing up and down his spine. He gulps and chokes and pulls Kaldur to him tighter.

Realistically, he had to let go sometime, but he wishes he never had. There’s so much he wishes he had done differently.

Kaldur leaves him briefly, the day after, to talk with King Orin; Garth never finds out what passes between them. When Kaldur returns, Garth can tell he's troubled. But Kaldur won't speak of it, and Garth doesn't have the energy to argue. Instead he curls up against him and closes his eyes. Kaldur's fingers slowly comb through his hair, over and over, and Garth sleeps.

When he wakes, Kaldur is gone. Not just gone from their room, but _gone_ ; Garth can't find him. No one can, not Orin, not Mera, not the League or Kaldur’s team.

Garth doesn't know how he doesn't drown.

Was he not enough, by himself? He's in pieces and he can't put himself back together alone. Had he been wrong, to think that Kaldur had loved him enough to stay?

Was Tula the only reason they had been together?

A month passes; two months. The pain ebbs and flows and Garth wants to leave Atlantis. He wants to flee. Every corner holds memories of Tula, of Kaldur, of what he had and what he's lost. He holds himself in the privacy of his room - not his and Tula's and Kaldur's, not anymore, just _his_ \- and tries to remember how to breath normally. Why did it have to be the people he loves?

Three months turns to four, and every corner holds memories of Tula and Kaldur and he's not ready to give them up. It hurts, but not always, not all the time anymore. And he could move and live somewhere else and make a new start. He could do that and force the pain down and away. Find some way to fill his days and come out the other side of this and let the memories fade.

But wouldn't that be worse? To forget and put away these memories? To not remember how demandingly cuddly Kaldur became that time the three of them got drunk together? How Tula would sing and hum when she was happy and no one but he or Kaldur were around? How they had been a mass of awkward limbs and changing bodies and voices and trying to figure out how that one sorcery lesson even worked? Wouldn't it be worse, to forget how happy they'd been?

He won't forget. Hasn't he lost enough?

Sometimes there are whispers, rumors of someone that looks like Kaldur. None of it is definite, and a full half of it comes from Red Arrow. Garth isn't very familiar with the archer, but he knows Kaldur, and he has heard the tale of Red Arrow and the mole before. He knows better than to think these rumors hold water.

Later he kicks himself for that.

He goes to the surface and assists the team - still nameless as none can decide on a proper name for their group - when they ask him. La'gaan goes with him one time and Garth just about does the entire mission with his hand over his mouth, hiding his grin at La'gaan's slack-jawed bewilderment of the surface. He remembers his own first time out of the water, and how his skin burned for days after. How Tula had scolded him, how Kaldur had been sympathetic, and how they both rubbed aloe into his skin. Garth doesn't think La'gaan will have the same problem, at least, not on this particular occasion. He reminds himself to take La'gaan to the surface for a proper visit later, one that won't be largely spent in Gotham's sewers.

Another visit. A third. La'gaan becomes entranced with the surface. It is not long before he joins the team Kaldur once led. He urges Garth to join too, but that would mean leaving Atlantis. Perhaps if it had happened earlier, Garth would have left; but for now he does not want to leave his home. And a small, petty part of him cannot help but remember Kaldur's dry comments about Batman's disapproval for split obligations.

So he does not join himself, but he still helps the team. These are the people Kaldur called friends, the people he had fought and bled alongside. Garth might not know where Kaldur has gone, but he is certain his friend will return. It will be good if there is still a team when he returns, if Kaldur's friends are as whole and unhurt as life will allow.

He and La'gaan are securing a seaside entrance of a complex that Kroloteans have infiltrated when there's an explosion from the main building. A group of soldiers in black Manta armor rush in soon after, intent on escape - the only barrier between them and the ocean is Garth and La'gaan.

They are badly outnumbered, but Garth is a master of Atlantean sorcery and La'gaan is a capable fighter in his own right. The battle is in their favor until one of the Mantas knocks La'gaan out cold. Garth tries, but he cannot fight over forty experienced soldiers on his own. Most of them escape, signaled onward by the one that took out La'gaan.

That one counters all of Garth's sorcery as the rest leave, taking their downed companions with them. He finds himself on the defensive, just trying to keep this lone soldier back rather than sending the water whipping at the retreating Mantas' legs. Garth pours all he has into his magic, but it is not enough; his opponent has obviously faced Atlantean sorcery before. Not just faced, but trained on non-sorcerous counters, and a quick, punishing series of punches and kicks sends Garth crashing against the wall. Garth barely manages to send out a final blast of water to keep the soldier from following up on the attack. He hears a grunt and a clatter of metal on metal.

When he looks up, he sees an all too familiar face staring at him impassively.

He picks himself up slowly, one hand against the wall to steady himself against the rapidly tilting world. Kaldur's here and in Manta armor and has attacked him.

"Why?" Garth's not sure who he's asking, Kaldur or the universe at large. Kaldur’s eyes catch his and Garth finds himself unable to look away from the storm in them. There’s a terrible sadness there that pulls at him. His hands flex with need to touch Kaldur, to hold him again, but he stays rooted to the spot.

It's Kaldur that answers.

"Because of Tula." Kaldur’s face might as well be mask, for all the emotion he shows. His voice is flat too, not angry, not sad, not really anything beyond an emotionless calm. But Garth’s heart hammers faster at the words, because that can’t be right. He can’t have heard right, he must be misunderstanding.

A burst of outrage alerts them that La'gaan is back with the waking. "Traitor!"

Kaldur's lips thin, and Garth watches as Kaldur's eyes quickly flick from him to La'gaan and back. Garth barely dares to breath, let alone take his eyes off Kaldur. Perhaps this is a hallucination, from too much sun? He has heard that humans have visions from sunstroke. But he has not been in the sun today; his body does not thirst for water. He cannot hide from what he sees before him.

He might have stood there for hours, staring at Kaldur staring at him, but for La'gaan. Garth sees it out of the corner of his eye, La'gaan's puffed up body rushing towards Kaldur. He's not sure later if he accidentally - maybe even intentionally - signaled Kaldur about the attack, but Kaldur dodges and counters. There's a cracking sound that turns Garth's stomach, and he finds himself moving. Water twists and rises at his command, and there's not a thought in his head beyond the wrongness of everything.

Kaldur takes him out with humiliating ease.

When Garth wakes back up, he sees Nightwing's face hovering over him in concern; he can hear La'gaan groaning in pain nearby. "You've got a broken wrist," is Nightwing's greeting, and Garth nods as he helps him sit up. "What happened?"

"Kaldur happened." La'gaan's voice is tight with pain. Garth looks over and winces. Some Atlanteans can bend their legs like that. La'gaan is not one of them. "He's a traitor." There's an ugly note in La'gaan's voice; Garth doesn't care for it at all.

"You're sure?" Nightwing asks.

"He broke my leg! Hard to get that wrong!" La'gaan shouts as M'gann and Conner enter the room. Conner tosses a medkit to Nightwing as they go to La'gaan. Garth looks down as they prepare to move La'gaan; his head is already swimming and the sight of that leg isn't helping. He watches as Nightwing wraps his wrist.

It takes Garth a minute to realize Nightwing's been talking to him. "Sorry, what?"

"You okay?" The mask that hides Nightwing's eyes shouldn't be able to show concern. Somehow it does. The voice that was so sharp a moment before is soft now. As if Garth might break if not treated gently.

"I ... don't know." His wrist is splinted and wrapped in a bandage. If only there was something similar that could hold his feelings, his heart, until this hurt healed. If only he's dreaming this. Pain beats heavily in his head, in his wrist as he stands slowly. If he’s dreaming it’s a nightmare, but he’s already awake. "I can't believe that he truly turned on us."

"Neptune's beard, Garth!" La'gaan is floating in midair under M'gann's power. "Do you hear yourself? Turned on us? He tried to kill us!"

A red heat bubbles up in his chest at the words. Distantly he hears M'gann tell La'gaan something, but the sounds are indistinct through the roaring in his ears. Garth's teeth grind; he inhales sharply and he forces himself to breath out slowly, slowly. "You don't understand. He... I... he's my friend, my family, he -"

"Hah! He certainly didn't seem to care!"

Garth's good hand curls into a fist. He slams a lid on his temper, which claws and clamors to wound La'gaan in turn. La'gaan means well, Garth tells himself. His fingers of his working hand clench, nails biting into his palm. The boy is hurt and afraid and is lashing out. It's not an excuse to respond in kind. Still, it's a struggle to keep the words inside, that Kaldur is - was - _his_ , his and Tula’s when she was still alive. Never once La’gaan’s, so how dare La'gaan act more hurt than him? How dare he act as if Kaldur hadn't attacked Garth too, hadn't hurt Garth too in body and spirit, hadn't tried to kill Garth too...

The thought cuts through Garth's growing anger. Kaldur tried to kill them... But Garth knows Kaldur, knows how he thinks and how he feels and how he can’t even make breakfast half-assed.

If Kaldur had intended to kill them, they'd actually be dead. Not alive to heal from a broken wrist and a badly broken leg and wounded feelings. Garth knows very well what Kaldur’s capable of.

It doesn't fit. Kaldur's killed and could have again just now, if he is truly with Manta, has truly turned his back on them, but he chose to leave them alive and escape. _"Because of Tula."_ Kaldur had said. The words swim against the current of what he knows. The idea that Kaldur might ever think Tula would want him to turn against Atlantis, against his friends, is ludicrous. So why....

Someone's hand touches his shoulder; Garth looks down at it and follows the arm up to Nightwing's face. His mouth is turned down at the corners, his face worried. But search as Garth might, he can't see anything on this surface dweller's face that even hints at shock. Denial, surprise, anger... those are absent too. Understanding comes slowly but it crashes over Garth like a tidal wave. When he surfaces, he only thought he was angry before. Now he's so furious he can hardly breath.

His hands shake as he shoves Nightwing away from him. "Don't bother me again until all this is done." He hisses, trying to keep quiet. Turning away, he heads for the water; he’s too angry to stay. Already he can see, can feel drops of water pulling off the floor, out of the air, humming and spinning around him in a foggy mist of a storm. If he stays, if he lets his temper get the best of him, it won’t be very pretty.

Plunging back into the sea, Garth is almost surprised the water doesn't boil around him. He can feel the heat under his skin claw at him. He wants to hit something, to shout, to scream. He wants to find Kaldur and yell at him and ask him why he kept this a secret. He wants to rip that mask off Nightwing and force honesty out of him. He wants to know whose idea it was to do this and keep Garth in the dark. Whose idea it was to put Kaldur in the position of killing his friends or breaking his cover.

He dives, seeking out the currents deep in the ocean that will take him towards Atlantis. The steadying cooling water does nothing to sooth his emotions. His jaw hurts. Garth realizes he's been clenching it and forces himself to relax. His injured hand throbs where it’s tucked against his body. He takes in a long breath and exhales slowly, pushing against the anger. Forcing it away and out and down so he can think.

He knows it doesn't really matter who planned what, now that whatever Nightwing and Kaldur have planned between them is underway. It hurts, that they didn't tell him any of this. He knows why - he is a terrible actor, even given time to practice. But he could have helped! He could have found safe places for them to meet. Could have created ciphers for communicating. Could have kept La'gaan, at least, from getting hurt.

He returns to Atlantis.

Every piece of news of Kaldur, of Kaldur's 'new' allegiance, is acid in his stomach, is sour water in his lungs. Garth knows Kaldur. Knows and understands what Kaldur was trying to relay to him with those three words. So he believes in his friend and not the facade Kaldur has built, is continuing to build.

But he is not all of Atlantis.

He wants it all to stop, to pause, to rewind. To go back to a time when he was happy. Or if that's too much to ask, at least to a time when everything wasn't so wrong. To when the people of Atlantis were proud of Kaldur being Aqualad.

To when the son of Black Manta hadn't caused the death of Atlanteans.

To when Garth wasn't scared of what he might be called on to do.

Nightwing doesn't contact him except for once, for help with the Magnetic Field Disruptors.

Stopping the MFDs is not without cost. Garth may not have ever been an official part of the team, but Wally was his friend. Even more importantly, he was one of Kaldur's friends. So he stays away, because now is not the time to try to repair his relationship with Kaldur. Assuming it can be repaired.

But people have died, and blood demands blood.

The request comes, just as he’s feared, and Garth almost refuses. In the end he accepts, as he knows exactly what sort of person will be sent instead. Still, he stalls as much as he can, to give Kaldur time. To give himself time. To steel himself for what he must do, for all the ‘what if’s that could follow. He knows he’ll never be properly prepared; if he had an eternity it wouldn’t be long enough.

Eternities and forevers are beyond his reach, though, and he can’t delay any longer.

Garth zetas to the Watchtower, hands steady despite the tremors running through his body. He passes Artemis along the way; she points him in Kaldur’s direction. His legs turn to lead and his stomach rolls as he walks down the hallway. What sort of friend is he, to do this? What right has he to call Kaldur family, if he does this?

But people have died, and there are consequences.

He pauses in the doorway at the end of the hall. There’s a wide viewing screen, showing the Earth and the stars beyond. He spends a moment picking out the constellations he knows before finally letting his gaze fall on Kaldur. Kaldur is watching the stars too, or maybe the Earth. Garth can’t tell.

“Kaldur.”

He doesn’t startle, just turns enough to look back at Garth. There’s a sadness in his eyes, a tired acceptance and maybe hurt. Kaldur’s mouth twists as if he’s tasted something sour and Garth feels a creeping suspicion that Kaldur knows what’s coming. Why Garth is here now, a month after the final battle with the Reach.

He walks over to stand beside Kaldur, less than a foot away from him and he could reach out and touch him, could grab his hand and clasp it. But those inches might as well be miles, even light-years. He can forgive that Kaldur attacked him. He can’t forget that Kaldur kept him in the dark about going into deep cover. He can’t forget that two days after Tula died, Kaldur left him without warning, to deal with his grief all alone.

He remembers, too, how close they used to be. How they had loved each other. He remembers wondering if Kaldur had ever loved him. He wonders if Kaldur still loves him.

He licks his lips - the air here is dry and it’s already bothering him - and Kaldur shakes his head. “I know.” Kaldur says. His voice is soft, almost inaudible. “I’ll come home.”

Garth stares at him, jaw slack, helplessly. He wants to argue but the words tangle in his throat and emerge as a strangled sound. How can Kaldur say that? How can Kaldur just stand there and say that and not be angry? How he can say ‘home’ as if Garth isn’t betraying Kaldur in a far deeper sense than Kaldur had ever betrayed him?

“You don’t have to.” Garth manages finally. “You don’t.” Kaldur looks at him, eyebrow raised, dismissing the idea without a word.

He wishes that Kaldur would act selfishly for once. That, for just this once, Kaldur would run. Hide. Flee. Anything but stand here and accept things as he always does. If he would just run, Garth won't have to return to Atlantis with Kaldur in tow. If he would just run, Kaldur would be free that much longer.

If he would just run, he would damn himself.

But Garth knows Kaldur. And there is precious little Kaldur runs from. And Garth knows the only place Kaldur runs is inward.

He bows his head, and holds out his hand. Kaldur takes it and squeezes hard. And then steps close, making Garth’s heart jump as Kaldur wraps his other arm around him. “I’m glad it’s you.” Kaldur whispers. Garth can only bury his head against Kaldur’s shoulder as he hugs him back. He puts as much strength into it as he can, in case he doesn’t get another chance to hold Kaldur.

Their hands stay clasped until they zeta back to Atlantis.

Queen Mera and King Orin do what they can. But the courts had been separated from the crown's power long ago. They have little fear of royal retribution - how could justice be upheld otherwise? Even so, some understanding usually could be found, to be more lax here or tougher there for crown support on another issue.

But the public is watching too closely for that sort of dealing. Too many people are angry, too many are hurt, for even the lightest hint of pressure on the courts. The crown isn’t strong enough for that right now, to survive a public outcry for supporting a traitor. All that can be done is to make the trial private and keep the proceedings from being flung to every corner of the oceans.

A long, long month passes before a sentence is handed down.

Garth can't remember a time he's felt sicker in his life. At least, with Tula, he can pretend that she didn't suffer.

The days before run together. The days after are a solid blur.

He's not entirely sure why he's back at the Watchtower. He knows that there's something to do with Atlantis and the League coordinating on ... something. It bothers him that he can't remember; he ought to know. It's important enough that Mera is here to talk with the founding League members about it.

He's not part of the meeting though, and he wanders the halls aimlessly. He doesn't worry about getting lost; the computers will track him if someone needs him.

He avoids the room with the view of Earth.

He doesn’t want to be here at the Watchtower at all, let alone that room.

He just wants to lie down and to stop. He’s so tired. Why do people keep interfering with that?

His wanderings bring him to the area Kaldur’s team is using while their mountain base is rebuilt. He turns, meaning to leave but it’s too late. He’s already been spotted. Impulse zips up to him and unleashes a waterfall of words, too jumbled up to get sense from.

“He’s trying to say it’s good to see you.” Garth looks over his shoulder to see Artemis leaning against the wall.

“You can understand that?” He jabs a thumb towards Impulse. The boy sighs loudly and a breeze alerts Garth that the boy’s gone speeding off somewhere.

Artemis shrugs, her mouth smiling crookedly. “It’s a skill you pick up, if you hang around speedsters long enough.” Her eyes narrow, examining him. After a moment she asks, “Are you okay? You look like a shark tried to eat you.”

Garth shrugs. “I wish.” He hesitates, on the verge of saying more to her, but, no. He’s tired, and doesn’t want to get into this. He turns to go again, and nearly collides with Nightwing in the doorway. His heart pounds. Backing up, Garth can see Impulse grinning behind him, and Conner and M’gann behind the kid. Nightwing steadies him when he almost trips over his feet. He doesn’t hold on though, and Garth’s glad. He’s not ready to forgive Nightwing for any part of that damn mission.

“See? There’s no way Aquaman would leave the League, or make the surface ‘off limits’. Told you guys the rumors were wrong!” Impulse is a blur as he moves about the room, but thankfully his speech is slower than before. The red whirlwind comes to a stop beside Garth again and tugs him over to a chair and pushes him to sit. Several have been pulled away from the long table that dominates one side of the room - from the papers, books, and plates strewn across it, it must serve time not only as a place for meetings, but also for study groups and meals.

His heart thuds heavily in chest as the others take seats, idly talking among themselves as if everything’s normal. He manages to forget Impulse, shifting impatiently beside him, until the boy speaks again. “When’s Kal coming back?”

Garth stares at him, and Impulse sighs, rolling his eyes. “You know, Kaldur? Atlantean? Breathes water like you? Good friends with Aquaman? That guy?”

There was a time that Garth might have played along, feigning total ignorance. Now that’s too painful. “He… won’t.”

Garth senses more than sees the others exchange a look.

“What do you mean?” Nightwing leans forward, brows knitted together. “I know things have been uneasy recently between Atlantis and the League, but surely it’s not that bad?”

“You … you don’t know?” It’s plain enough from the blank looks on their faces that they don’t. And really, he should have expected that. It’s not as if the verdict has been out for that long.

“Garth, what is it?” M’gann’s voice is soft, as if he might shatter if she spoke louder.

He’s not sure he won’t.

“I. Kaldur, he.” His throat closes and he swallows painfully against the lump forming there. This shouldn’t fall to him to explain, but who else can? Who else would? “People died. At Kaldur’s hands. Even, even though it was for that mission, that… that doesn’t make them not dead. And.”

There’s another exchanging of looks. “So, he’s on trial?” Nightwing, the great detective.

“Was.”

“Was?” Artemis’s voice is sharp. Garth nods, not looking at any of them.

“Wait, so he’s in water-jail?” Impulse asks in mocking disbelief. Garth’s hands clench on his knees as Nightwing hushes the speedster. Impulse, however, is very accurately named and rushes on. “Because that’s so far from crash it’s not even mode. He’s a hero, how could you -”

“Impulse!” Artemis’s rough voice makes the boy flinch.

“Well, it’s true! Kaldur is a hero, and he deserves better than to be put on trial and -”

“We have to answer for what we do!” Garth interjects sharply. He glares up at Impulse. “If we are to be any different from those we fight, we have to answer.” He looks down again and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry. I. I’d tell him you all miss him, give him your messages, but. It’s too late.”

There’s a deafening silence that makes his ears buzz, and then the world explodes into noise. He makes out a distinct, breathy “no” at the beginning - Artemis - and then everyone is talking at once, the words swirling together into nonsense. What’s not nonsense is the squeak of shoes on the floor, and the crash of Conner’s chair on the floor as he catches Artemis. She slams into the half-Kryptonian’s chest, eyes wide and wild and spilling tears as she shrieks.

“Both of them? BOTH OF THEM?” Her hands beat against Conner’s chest, trying to get at Garth. He can’t be sure if he appreciates or hates Conner just then. He deserves to be hit, he knows. He’s the one that brought Kaldur back home to that trial. And yet. He thinks Artemis doesn’t mean to kill him, just hurt him. A lot. And isn’t it messed up, that that’s what has him shrinking back? Not the idea of dying but of _hurting_?

He doesn’t remember much after that. A blurry mess of words and faces and people talking at him, but he’s done with talking. The pain’s too close, and while they have a right to the full story, he needs more space before he’s the one telling it. Time to untangle himself from the ones he once never thought he’d be saying goodbye to.

He just wishes he wasn’t so practiced at it.


End file.
